


i am an island, you are the ocean

by Kogeki



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Best Dates - by the ocean in the moonlight, Frederick Chilton is Charlie's Dad, M/M, Nature as a Metaphor for Soul, Swimming, Two Lovesick Fools, paradise fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 14:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kogeki/pseuds/Kogeki
Summary: But this night isn’t like the others. There’s something in the air - charged tension, peace before the storm, inevitable. And on this night Harry finds himself turning his eyes towards a movement on the beach.He’s greeted by the sight of a naked young man.Waves crash softly against his bare feet, calves, knees, waist, chest, until only his head is sticking out and then, the abyss devours also that.Harry’s eyes stay glued to the spot, watching and waiting.No one comes out.





	i am an island, you are the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I just realised my Hartwin fics tend to be a tad out of reality - paradise fics, lets call them. They've got kind of this feel to them - like everything happens in a dream.   
> It is a peculiar quirk of mine to look at the world in that kind of way. Yet, I simpy refuse to be called "a romantic hero" like Werter or Konrad Walenrod.   
> Note that my Harry tends to be a bit more like me, that's why I kinda see him describing Eggsy as his sun, yet still calling himself man of cold hard logic, refusing to accept that yes, he is a hopeless romantic. But we all know the truth ;)
> 
> You don't really have to know that to enjoy the story, but I haven't written it in the specific time period in mind - so you can apply whichever one fits or you like - modern or victorian, I think it'll still fit
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: this fic was inspired by [this hartwin video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcy68QMDQUA) by Alyssa Noble. You should definitely check it :D

There’s certain kind of serenity, Harry thinks, in being surrounded by nature. Especially for someone like him. Someone used to grayness of the city, to hard concrete and glass, to the smell of pollution, sounds of the traffic and people’s constant chatter. To the sky without stars.

There’s certain kind of serenity in looking at the waves crashing softly against the shore, feeling the breeze caressing the curls that he hadn’t bothered taming after the shower, seeing the perfectly round moon hung lowly over the dark water.

There’s certain kind of security in admiring the nature and not letting it take control. That’s the kind security one has putting oneself in a cage or a special car just to observe sharks or lions in their natural habitat. Interacting with nature on one's own terms. Protecting oneself from the outside world.

Harry Hart was a careful man, first and foremost. Finding peace in admiring nature like admiring art - from afar.

But this night isn’t like the others. There’s something in the air - charged tension, peace before the storm, inevitable. And on this night Harry finds himself turning his eyes towards a movement on the beach.

He’s greeted by the sight of a naked young man.

From the rock Harry’s sitting on, he can only make a few observations about the person, having only the soft glow of the moon illuminating the silhouette that belongs to a man, certainly, with physique of someone young. Pale skin made pearly white - a sharp contrast to unforgiving darkness of the night.

The only indication he isn’t in fact a statue, carved from marble by Michelangelo’s own hands,  _ David  _ personified, but an actual human being, is the fact that after a few breathtaking, excruciating moments of stillness - no, of breathing,  _ savouring _ \- he finally takes a step forward, followed by another and another.

Waves crash softly against his bare feet, calves, knees, waist, chest, until only his head is sticking out and then, the abyss devours also that. 

Harry’s eyes stay glued to the spot, watching and waiting.

No one comes out.

Harry’s on his feet, before his mind registers what’s happening. His foot nearly slips from one of the rocks in a haste to get back to the sand, shoes all but forgotten. He looks out for any ripple of water, looks out for a head popping out. In a haste to get to the same spot, when he first saw the young man he nearly ripps the buttons of his shirt, shucking off his shoes, socks, trousers without stopping.

He follows young man’s footprints on the sand to the water, where the waves washed some of them away. 

He has one heart-stopping moment of hesitation, of getting into the water, but it doesn’t matter in the long-run, does it? His choice over his irrational fear or saving a life, was, is and always will be the latter.

He dives in, where he last saw the boy disappear, water muting all his senses. He feels a movement next to him, and--

And he panics. 

He can’t see anything but black and he gasps, lungs filling with water, hands and legs forgetting what’re they for and even the frantic wriggling can’t get him to the surface soon enough.

He’s acutely aware of something catching him around the waist. He tries to fight, run for his life, but his lungs are burning and his vision is getting more and more dark, but he’s trying to stay conscious.

He doesn’t register the voice at first. The water roars in his ears. He’s not in the water anymore, but he still feels like he’s drowning, dying.

Until there are hands on his chest, pushing, pushing,  _ pushing  _ and then air in his lungs, and suddenly there’s too much. He bends in half, coughing up and even after the water’s not longer in his lungs, he still coughs.

Only a palm pressed to his back and then, Harry’s eyes snap up to the very light eyes full of so much relief that Harry’s feeling it in his bones and it strikes him speechless. The hand’s gone from Harry’s back and goes with the other to the boy’s face, muffled sound, quiet and broken escapes his mouth.

“ _ Jesus fucking Christ. _ ” He sighs as his palms slide up to his hair, slicking them back, and then ruffling them again, balling hands into fists and letting go off them with a frustrated growl. “What the  _ fuck _ , bruv?”

The young man glaring at him is very naked, is amongst the first thoughts Harry can process. The other one is that kneeling on one knee shields his dignity from Harry - not that he’s at this particular moment very interested in looking anywhere but at the boy’s face.

Square jaw tense with nerves, hair sticking in every direction, sharp eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly open, breathing hard and eyes that show multitude of emotions that Harry is sure aren’t as easily shown on his own face, but he feels them, too.

Harry sits properly and checks the boy’s body for any injuries, but doesn’t let his eyes linger. When he’s sure his voice won’t tremble, he finally opens his mouth. “Are you hurt anywhere?” is the first thing he asks, because that’s a priority right now, he has to make sure, if he missed something.

The boy grits his jaw, his eyes turn to anger that’s so easily showed in his eyebrows. His fist clenches down on the sand and when he closes and opens his eyes again it’s frustration that Harry sees. He shakes his head on which Harry’s shoulders slump and he lets out a sigh.

“And you?” The boy prompts after a while, quietly, like the silence between them is like that peace before the storm and cannot be disturbed. His anger mostly quieted down. His eyes are clear.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Harry answers with a polite nod.

The boy snorts, disbelieving, and shakes his head. He puts his forehead on one knee and Harry can see his lips stretched in a grin. Harry supposes it is a rather unusual, ridiculous situation they found themselves in. “You’s a one mad bastard, anyone every told you?”

“I heard that a few times, yes,” Harry answered with a wry smile.

The boy rested a cheek on his knee, hands circling one leg in comfort or shielding himself from the cold breeze. He  doesn’t want to break the silence. It’s in his stance and half-closed eyes, content to stay in his dream-like bubble, looking at Harry like he’s some strange creature of old. And yet the boy keeps licking his lips in a most distracting manner, Harry’s eyes following every movement. 

And that desire to say something eventually wins, his eyes are burning and curious, but also a little wary, the memory of fear from before lurking behind his eyes.

“You came after me. Into the water,” the boy says, soft and quiet. And that’s how he looks right now - earnest, soft and so, so young. “ _ Why _ ?” He frowns slightly, like he can’t understand, but he would very much like to try.

“You haven’t come out. For a whole three or four minutes.” Harry says at last. What he doesn’t say it’s that for a moment there he thought the boy was a creature of the sea coming home from the land and Harry couldn’t bear the thought of losing the being vanishing so sudden.

The thought seems utterly ridiculous now. Harry is anything but a Romantic hero, standing on a cliff, staring at the sea of fog - a metaphor for his wild soul and the depths of his feelings, mysterious and untamable.

The boy in front of him seems doubtful, scrunching up his nose but takes it as an answer accepts it as an answer - clearly not the one he wanted.

The silence stretches between them, though both are lost in their own heads. Harry’s acutely aware of sand clinging to his exposed back and back of his legs. His underwear drenched and uncomfortable. The breeze is making him shiver. The young man, as Harry notes again, doesn’t seem very bothered by similar state, though from this close Harry can see goosebumps rippling through his arm at the breeze.

Finally Harry heaves himself off the sand, to the boy’s surprise - as he was wrenched from a reverie. From this position he looks small, with a stubborn set to his mouth and looking up at Harry.

“I am sorry for interrupting your… quiet moment.” He says, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to sort the situation and himself at the same time, which proves to be difficult a task. “Do you have warm set of clothes nearby?” The boy nods, peering at Harry under his lashes curiously. “Do you require assistance getting to them? Or would you like me to escort you back home?”

“Actually, bruv…” The young man stands and Harry takes a step back. Gaze staying above the waist level - the boy might not care about his own nakedness, but Harry is very much aware. “I could go for a proper swim, when I still have the chance. The storm’s coming and who knows when I get another chance for a peaceful night like this.” 

He looks up, exposing the paleness of his throat to Harry’s gaze and it’s dangerous, very dangerous. Either because it’s a deliberate move or an unconscious one. He doesn’t know who Harry is and what he’s capable of and yet he isn’t even a little bit scared.

Then he meets Harry’s eye, chin high, eyebrows raised, mouth turned playfully and who was this man? Looking at Harry like he was a challenge. “What about you? Going to try and drown yourself trying to save pretty naked lads again?” He asks with a wink.

“No. Just the one.”

When the boy’s grin brightens, Harry knows his words have been misinterpreted. Then his grin falters and his expression softens, tone quiet but confident, when he says, “I wasn’t. Trying to drown myself, I mean.”

“I know,” Harry is quick to assure.

“You was, though. Don’t try that again, ya 

get me? I won’t always be there to save ya.”

“I assure you,” Harry says dryly, “I have no intention on repeating this adventure. The ground is the only place I like to be right now.”

Harry’s reluctant in leaving and so is the boy. He turns back first and looks in search for his discarded clothes. He does turn back, just once, and sees the young man staring back at him. He quickly breaks their gazes and all the way to the mansion regrets not having asked his name.

Perhaps it’s for the best, he decides. They’ll most likely never see again. That’s the thought that occupies his mind, before he closes his eyes and sleep takes him.

 

***

 

Harry sees him again.

Though he’s not sure, if it’s him - it’s the middle of the day, sun bright and extremely annoying- and so are the boy’s clothes. Harry’s feeling like he’s got to squint to actually look his way. Another thing is that he looks a lot younger than Harry remembers - all sharp lines and lean physique - especially when he throws his head back and laughs, loud and bright at whatever his friends are bickering about behind him.

There are three of them. A girl with light hair and a boy with dark hair, both young, lean and beautiful. Harry’s boy leads them from the forest into the fields, right beside the hedge maze, where he and Merlin are headed. All of them are carrying backpacks.

Merlin stops his rant about what will happen to the mansion, if Harry decides to abandon it and go back to London. His gaze trails after Harry’s and he sighs, shaking his head. “Again with the sneaking, those brats.”

Harry’s meant to ask what he means by that, but then the boy - Harry’s boy - looks their way and their gazes meet. He immediately recognizes Harry from two nights before and soon after the surprise wears off his face is splitting in a grin and he waves his hand in greeting, while the other two nod politely, at least showing some manners.

Merlin makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and Harry chuckles. He senses it’s a common occurrence, the way Merlin grumbles about the chip on the boy’s shoulder. The two companions grab the boy’s shirt and backpack pulling him into the porch, while he walks backwards, eyes still on Merlin and Harry - though Harry guesses it’s mostly concentrated on himself.

He wouldn’t be the first person from the island, who looks at him funny, like he’s a creature from another planet. Merlin always tells him he’s too stiff, dressed in a three-piece suit even when it’s so bloody hot outside and no one around to judge him for wearing shorts.  _ Bloody shorts _ , for God’s sake. No way in hell.

“And there they are, our favourite troublemakers on the island. I hoped you’ll meet them in a little different circumstances, but we can’t have everything, can we?” Merlin sighs and resumes their walk. “An heir to Hasketh’s fortune and Lady Morton sneaking away to that damned pond to splash about. Be so kind, Harry, and don’t tell their parents, when you meet them. They’re worse than children, I swear. And I am not a babysitter.”

“Hasketh as in…?” Harry says, for a moment forgetting about the boy.

Merlin immediately picks up on what Harry doesn’t say. “Yes, Frederick Hasketh’s son. He’s away on business trip, so you’ll meet him, when he comes back. Whatever sympathy you had for them years back, forget it and be prepared to fight, Harry Hart. Hasketh’s a shark to Percy’s panther. They both want this house for themselves. Badly.”

 

***

 

The truth is Harry doesn’t even wants this house.

He has some memories with the place, spending a few summers here in his teenage years, not for company, mind. Uncle Chester was a prick, who commanded servants and his own family like some old god sprawled on his throne. Aunt Rosa was quite nice, but much too submissive to her husband’s wishes. After she died, Harry lost all contact with Chester and he never even thought to reach out and contact him; and by the looks of things Chester didn’t want to have anything to do with him, either.

So why his will stated that the mansion and its ground were all going to Harry, in case of Chester King’s death, he has no idea.

The island  _ is  _ beautiful, but no place for Harry, who is used to being needed and being busy back in his small tailor shop in London.

It’s late afternoon, when Harry finally escapes Merlin. He finds a great spot under a tree, so no one can notice him from the mansion, but he has a perfect view if someone would be approaching. He takes off his jacket and sits on it, back to the tree, his butterfly journal in hand. That’s the first time he can actually close his eyes and just breathe in, a quiet moment, since that night, two days ago, when he nearly got and drowned himself. 

The day had been filled with all the unpleasantries of his normal life. He guesses business and money are language people on the island couldn’t escape from. It wasn’t always like this. He doesn’t remember much, but his primary memory of this place was always the serenity, a quiet shore and freedom from social expectations. It changed, or maybe it’s just Harry.

After a while, trying to read his teenage notes about what kind of butterflies live on the island, his eyes close out of their own volition.

When he opens them again, there’s a shadow blocking the sun.

“Found ya,” the shadow says.

Then the shadow moves and crouches down. Harry stifles a yawn, his journal slides down from his belly to the ground, when he tries to sit up. The shadow, as it turns out, is the young man Harry saw that night and briefly this morning, who is smirking down at him.

“Merlin’s lookin’ for ya. Thought I let ya know he plans to kill ya for runnin’ away.”

“It’s not running away,” Harry clarifies with as much dignity as he can manage. The boy lift his one perfect eyebrow at him in an unnerving manner. “It’s more of tactical retreat.”

“ _ Sure _ .” And how a person can fit so much scepticism in one word, Harry will never know.

“Oh, you can tell him to shove it.” 

Harry’s momentarily confused, when the boy plops down with a huff.

“Oi, I won’t tell him anythin’, guv. ‘Speciialy not  _ that _ . ‘M no runner boy ‘round ‘ere”

Harry looks at the stranger with furrowed brows, as he arranges himself closer to Harry, legs stretching beside the older man, his hands on the ground, leaning back.

“So, who-” Harry stops suddenly, not sure if he wants to know the answer, the boy glances at him from the corners of his eyes, curious. 

“What’s your name?” He asks instead, surprising himself that it’s the most important thing in his mind. It feels foolish to think about him as ‘boy’ or ‘young man’, when he has the chance to know something that’s been bothering him since that night.

“Eggsy.”

Harry  doesn’t know what an eggsy is, but he feels far too foolish and far too old to ask. Something in his expression must give him away, because the stranger tils his head to the side to meet Harry’s eyes, amused and so, so green. “Tha’s what everyone calls me.”

“Eggsy?”

“Yep.”

Harry hums. The boy -  _ Eggsy  _ keeps looking at him expectantly.

“O-oh, I apologise. Harry Hart.” He raises his hand, stained with graphite from the pencil he was drawing with. The hand that meets his has a bit of grass on it that gets stuck to Harry’s palm, but he doesn’t mind, really. Too focused on the handshake itself. 

Harry’s a businessman and he met enough of those in his life to know the importance of a good handshake and how much you can learn from it.

Eggsy’s palms are calloused from work and so small in his own, Harry’s fingers enveloping his entirely. He smells like sweat and sea.

His grip is strong, but not in intimidating or manacing way. Eggsy doesn’t try to show his dominance, he’s simply confident in himself.

It’s refreshing.

“‘Arry ‘Art?” Eggsy snorts and Harry doesn’t even mind the abuse of the English language that is the boy permanent feature. There is, dare he say, certain charm to it.

Eggsy lets go of his hand, lays down so his back is on the grass, his hands behind his head. He closes his eyes and just breathes and Harry’s enraptured by his beauty yet again. By the willingness to enjoy something so simple as here and now. The moment, when everything stops for a second.

This feels like this moment suspended in time, from now on anything can happen.

Harry isn’t the one to disrupt the silence. Eggsy’s voice is quiet, when he asks, “So wot was you doin’ that night? I’ve never seen you ‘round ‘ere before.”

“It was my first day on the island and to be honest, I still don’t know what came over me.” Eggsy’s head perks up at that, he doesn’t open his eyes, just lifts his eyebrows to ask Harry to continue. So he does, “I was supposed to meet with Merlin, but before I wanted to sort out my thoughts. I live a busy life in a busy city, coming here, to the nature, it’s… calming. Comforting. I forgot the feeling and I was reminded of it that night. Then I met you and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Yeah, I… know wot you mean, about the nature, the sea. Tha’s wot I was doin’, too. I don’t do this often-”

“Skinny dipping?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

There was a smirk on Eggsy’s face. “Nah, tha’s I do everyday. But in the sea? Once in a while. To sorta… ya know, like ya said. Besides, there’s a storm coming and that’s probably the only peaceful night we’ll get for some time.”

“Do you want to know what I thought when I saw you disappear into the water?”

He desperately wants to shake off that melancholy that’s clinging to him, to Eggsy. He’s a vibrant young man, all smirk and smiles, but when he’s talking about the sea he looks soft and sad.

He shouldn’t look like this.

“Yeah, go on.” One eye peeks through his lashes, curious, attentive.

Harry put down his sketchbooks aside, humming in thought.

“As a young boy there were legends about the island. My aunt and uncle told me not to listen to those stories. ‘Ridiculous,’ they said. Will give you nightmares and us the headache.’ One of them wasn’t scary. I always held it close to my heart. It’s a tale about mermaids guarding the island. As long as they’re there nothing evil can get past them. It would be some explanation, for younger me at least. The island was my small paradise for two months a year.”

As much as I am a sceptic, this place has the effect on me even I can’t explain. Coming here after so many years brought in me what I thought I’ve forgotten. When you stepped into the water and didn’t emerge, for a split second I was sure you were one of the mystical creatures coming home.”

“A mermaid, really, ‘Arry?” Eggsy sounds amused, but not too put off by it.

“A merman, I believe is the term.” Harry shrugs. “I never said I am not an old fool. Here you have it, Eggsy. The truth that you wanted. What are you going to do with it, is only up to you.” 

“A merman comin’ home. To protect the island. I like it.” Eggsy’s grin nearly splits his face in two. “And I thought you was some old pervert watching a naked lad and thought him too pretty to die.”

Harry splutters, “I wasn’t-... I mean, you are. Too young to die. But I wasn’t  _ watching  _ you...”

“Not pretty, then?” The boy pouts, childish and ridiculous. Then, when he realizes how silly he sounds, he shakes his head with a huff.

“I haven’t said that.”

“More like implied...”

“I apologize. It wasn’t meant to sound like that.”

Harry averts his eyes, feeling heat in his cheeks. Why are they discussing this, he has no idea. Why he hasn’t stopped it, that is the question. Eggsy’s laugh makes him snap back his eyes to the boy, who sits up, giving him a wry grin.

“Don’t apologize, bruv. Seriously. I don’t know wot came over me. Forget it, ‘kay?” Then, before Harry has a chance to even open his mouth - another sorry on the tip of his tongue - Eggsy says, “You wanna know wot I thought about you, then?” 

And isn’t he a little closer to Harry, somehow?

“Haven’t you answered that a moment ago?”

“Nah, I was takin’ the piss. I tried to figure you out since then, ya know. You ran after me, when you thought I needed help, I mean who does that? I was a stranger and you can’t even swim.”

Harry says, only a little tiny bit breathless, “And what theory did you came up with?”

Eggsy shrugs one shoulder, crossing his legs. “You were a knight in a previous life or somefin. And that’s the best one I got.”

“What were the others, then?”

“You was an alien, actually a pervert or I just made you up.” He taps his fingers against his temple. “It didn’t feel real _. _ ”

There’s shouting coming from the house. It’s not Merlin, by which Harry is very surprised. It’s a woman's voice and she calls for Eggsy, who flinches a little in surprise as well.

He quickly stands up. Hands coming to rest in his trousers, looking at Harry, who begins to rise as well.

“Duty calls. You can stay ‘ere if you want, ‘Arry. I won’t rat you out, promise.”

Again, Harry doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Eggsy’s gone with a speed of the light.

 

***

 

“Harry, this is Michelle Unwin. She’s been taking care of the house for three years now.”

Harry kisses her hand and she smiles at him a little coldly. 

She knows his history, for sure, thanks to Merlin and must think him a monster to abandon his uncle and the house to themselves for so many years.

“Don’t let them ruin this house.” That’s the only thing she asks of him. And maybe it’s not about Chester, after all. Maybe it’s about her and her little daughter. Maybe they think of the mansion as home. Maybe they don’t have another place to go.

Harry feels a pang of guilt in his chest. He never considered what will happen to the staff once he’ll sell the house. He can talk to Percival, but even Harry knows all of them can’t stay here.

“Oh, and here he is. Lazing about all afternoon, sneaking up to that damn forest, were you?” Merlin’s tone shows irritation, but Harry sees the look that his friend gives him and it is incredibly fond. “Harry, meet Michelle’s son.  _ Gary  _ Unwin.”

Harry looks over his shoulder and sees him, his boy stopping short on the first two steps of stairs, as surprised as Harry is.

“Just Eggsy’s fine,  _ Hamish _ .” It is clearly a joke shared many times between those two, but no less amusing. It took a lot of time for Harry to learn Merlin’s first name and he wonders how the boy in those three years that he’s been here with his mother and younger sister managed to learn it.

Harry steps closer to the stairs. Now there are on equal footing, head to head with Eggsy standing two steps above Harry. They shake hands.

“Pleasure to meet you, Eggsy.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too, ‘Arry. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yes.”

And it’s a good thing Merlin doesn’t hear that hushed exchange. He would have a lot of questions. Did they met before? Why Eggsy knows his name, even if Harry didn’t introduced himself a second time. Harry isn’t sure he wants to share it with Merlin, not just yet.

Merlin lifts an eyebrow at him, though - because he’s a suspicious bastard and Harry sends him a look.

 

***

 

Let that be known - Frederick Hasketh is a prick.

He sweeps in the next day, demanding Harry’s presence at 4 am without informing him, Merlin or Percy beforehand. He didn’t deem it necessary because he will leave again in an hour and it would be too much of a bother to alert everyone. He wanted to discuss some personal matters with Harry - seeing as the house belongs to him by law. So Merlin’s or Percy’s word hardly matters in this case.

Harry really doesn’t give a single fuck about that damn house. He doesn’t give a fuck about Frederick’s obsession with it, his status or his money. He doesn’t give a fuck about what Chester would’ve wanted.

But still he goes to meet Frederick at 4 bloody am in the morning to pretend he listens - for Merlin’s sake more than his own. His friend would’ve killed him if Harry fucked up good relationship between the Hart’s and the Hasketh’s. Harry doesn’t really give a fuck about that, too.

And he shows it.

He doesn’t bother with taming his hair, so it’s a mess of curls, doesn’t bother to even change his clothes, just puts his red silk robe on and black slippers. Partly because he doesn’t want to change, partly because he wants Frederick to look at his comfy slippers and huge golden Ks and think about a missed opportunity of buying Kingsman, when he had a chance. A personal ‘fuck you’, if you will.

A perfectly tailored suit would do a better impression - Harry in Kingsman suit and Frederick in that horrendous thing he calls three-piece suit with awful stitchwork and that pimp cane always in his hand. But it is as good an impression he makes, when Harry ascends the stairs in his robe that’s satisfying enough.

There’s a young man at his side Harry remembers as Eggsy’s friend from before, Charlie, Merlin told him - an heir to the throne. He looks so much like his father - with dark hair and light eyes, but the sneer that Harry sees reminds him more of his mother. Also not hiding his displeasure.

Frederick’s as subtle as a brick, but he mastered the art of business. Charlie hasn’t yet.

It is to no end amusing.

“Gentlemen.” Harry says with dignity, shaking their hands and unceremoniously plopping down on a wicker armchair on a porch, making them follow him outside and sit down beside him, facing him.

“What a man needs to do to get some tea around here?” Frederick props his elbows on a table and leans forward.

“I suppose a man needs to come for a visit at more reasonable hour.” Harry leans back hands splaying on armrests. “If I remember correctly you said you’re leaving in half an hour.” Paul, one of the staff, came knocking on Harry’s room repeating what was told to him by Frederick.

Charlie’s face is a perfect look of annoyance, but Frederick holds well - his face a blank page. “I suppose I did say that, although as a good host…” He trails off, his eyes somewhere behind Harry. “Oh, you! You work here, young man? Bring us some tea.”

Harry sees Eggsy as he comes in his line of sight, backpack on his shoulder, hair windswept and shirt askew, buttons on the neck open. He lifts one eyebrow and Harry hears in his mind the words  _ I ain’t no runner boy ‘round ‘ere _ . 

It doesn’t come. 

What does is a little grit of his jaw and eyes cast down like some bloody schoolboy who’s ashamed of what prank his has done to his teacher.

Harry hates that expression, especially paired off with what actually comes out of Eggsy’s mouth, “Right, sir.”

Frederick doesn’t spare him a glance, Charlie does but briefly, and Harry watches as Eggsy goes inside with his back straight, all rigid lines filled with tension.

“So as I was trying to say, I know Merlin and Percival are trying to persuade you to change your decision about the mansion and its grounds, but  _ we _ ,” Frederick does a motion with his hand from himself to Harry, “we’ve known each other forever. We have a connection. We’re blood.”

He gives Harry a headache from all the nonsense he spews for whole of fifteen minutes, so Eggsy with the tea is a welcome distraction, though surprising. Harry figured he’d tell Julia or Maddie to take care of it, but the house is as still and quiet as, when Harry woke up. He didn’t wake anyone.

He doesn’t make a sound as he puts down three teacups and pours the water from the ceramic teapot. Harry’s eyes are on him the whole time, though Eggsy refuses to look at him, both ignoring Frederick’s rant. One time their gazes meet and Eggsy nearly spills the hot water on Hasketh senior’s suit.

It’s a chaos. Charlie stands up, sneering and Frederick, who was wildly gesticulating second ago goes still with rage, muttering, “Careful, boy. It costs more than you’ll ever see in your life.”

“Sorry, sir.” He says, then turns to Charlie with a quiet, “Fuck off, will ya?”

Charlie’s face goes red. “Keep your mouth shut, you pleb.”

Harry will not tolerate it, not from the boy, who was supposed to be Eggsy’s friend. Who had no qualms about his presence, when there was no Frederick around. And they think he will negotiate with men who belittle others deliberately.

“Charlie.” Which seems to snap them both out of their anger. Eggsy grits his teeth and raises his chin defiantly at Harry. Charlie does the same, though he looks at him with mocking, true shame he shows only when he glances back at Frederick, who looks disappointed. “I don’t have time for this. And I hope you know that my time costs.”

“Yes, father.”

“Besides picking fights with servant boys… That’s what you're doing in your free time here?” He snorts and waves a hand to dismiss Eggsy. First time he ever acknowledges his presence.

Harry watches as Eggsy furrows his brows and opens his mouth, perhaps to talk back. But as it would be refreshing earlier, now both Hasketh’s are irritated and it will bring more harm than good to anger them further.

Of course Harry can get away with it.

“Leave the boy alone, Frederick.” Eggsy immediately retreats, taking a step back at Harry’s voice, pure steel. He has had enough of both of the Haskeths already and it is still his house, as temporary as this is. The staff is under his supervision. “I am flabbergasted still at your poor choice of words. ‘Servant’ suggests one has no choice over one’s own life as a slave would and one is bound to one's master, as a dog would. Neither of which the boy is. He is a free man, who was kind enough to fucking take time and bring you your bloody tea at 4:18 in the morning, but all the staff starts work at 5 am. So I suggest you show at least a little bit of gratitude, before I decide going back to sleep is better alternative than listening to you spewing nonsense.”

Both Hasketh’s have their mouth open as he finishes with a pointed sip of his tea. Eggsy’s nowhere to be seen, Harry saw him from the corner of his eye sneaking away in the middle of his little speech.

Maybe, just maybe, Harry considers he might have said too much.

 

***

 

“What  _ the fuck _ did you say to him? Harry, for Christ sake!”

It’s 5:30. Merlin came immediately, when he heard about Hasketh’s senior visit. He only had found Harry sipping his second cup of tea and have been talking with the maid - Julia - about the exotic teas he had a pleasure to taste on his many travels.

That’s the first thing Merlin shouts, when he sees his old friend, until Harry explains his situation, cutting Eggsy out as much as possible to not give the boy any trouble.

In the end Merlin doesn’t bang his head into the nearest wall, but it’s a near thing. He rolls his eyes - and in those grumpy scottish species it’s a sigh of reluctant affection.

 

***

 

Harry sees Eggsy the same day.

To be honest he is looking for him since that bloody morning nightmare, but the boy can’t be found anywhere. He wants to ask Michelle, but doesn’t. She would think him strange in asking of whereabouts of her son.

Besides he’s a grown man, he probably doesn’t tell his mother where he’s going. And Merlin mentioned he has a habit of vanishing.

So Harry has to wait for him to show himself.

It comes as a surprise, when Harry’s returning after dinner to the library, where he left his book on the couch, only to hear Mozart played on a piano.

The young man playing has his back turned to the door. Harry steps quietly, like a shadow sneaking up, to stand beside Eggsy. He has his eyes closed and slowly the song is coming to an end, quieting down.

Eggsy opens his eyes and stands up, turning to Harry who takes a step back, surprised at the frustration he sees in the man’s face.

“You said you won’t do it again.”

“Do what?” Harry is genuinely confused.

“Save me! I ain’t no damsel in distress and you ain’t no knight, ‘Arry. You owe me nothing.”

“My dear boy, do you think I did it, because I felt obligated to do so?”

“What did you do it, then?”

Harry sighs and makes his way to the couch. “I didn’t like the way they look at you. I didn’t like the way they talk to you. Or saw through you, like you were made of thin air.”

The sound Eggsy makes is nearly a growl. “It’s how it is, ‘Arry.  It’s like Charlie said, I’m just a pleb.”

“Nonsense.” Eggsy’s anger falters. “Being a gentleman has nothing to do with the circumstances of one’s birth. It’s something one learns.”

“Lesson about manners, ‘Arry, really? Now?” There are beginnings of smirk on the corners of his lips.

“There is always time for manners, dear Eggsy.” Harry says in his poshest accent, straightening his posture in his suit, looking for the world like Chester King, the most snobbish man Harry had ever knew. “And now, did you watch the film  _ Trading Places _ ?”

“No.” Eggsy leans his hip against the table, crossing his arms, but not in defence. His eyebrows are raised in curiosity and there are definitely the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“How about  _ Nikita _ ?” Eggsy shakes his head. “ _ Pretty Woman _ ?”

The frown sent Harry’s way is indication to stop this little quiz.

“Alright. My point is the lack of a silver spoon has set you on a certain path, but you needn’t stay on it. If you’re prepared to adapt and learn, you can transform.”

The recognition on Eggsy’s face is like turning up the sun. “Oh, like in  _ My Fair Lady _ .”

“You’re full of surprises. Yes, like in  _ My Fair Lady _ .”

“So I can be a gentleman like you, huh?” Eggsy hops on a chair in front of Harry with a snort. “So in this reference I’m Eliza to your ‘Enry ‘Iggins. And what now? You’s gonna teach how to talk proper?”

“Don’t be absurd. Being a gentleman has nothing to do with one’s accent. It’s about being at ease in one’s own skin.”

Harry’s traitorous mind supplies the image of Eggsy’s naked body on the beach that night and how at ease he was back then. Eggsy squints his eyes at him from his armchair, before something flashes in his eyes and he bursts out laughing.

“Yeah, bruv. We both know I’ve no problems with that.”

Harry’s burrows his face in the unfinished book, trying to regain his footing.

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.

He read twenty pages in two hours, because Eggsy, as it turns out, is far more interesting than the protagonist of the book. And real.

Harry learns so much more about him. About his sister Dairy - little flower that is the most precious thing in the world. About Michelle, who went through some tough shit before she and Eggsy carved out the piece of their own paradise together on the island.They left London trying to start anew. Why, Eggsy didn’t tell and Harry didn’t ask.

In turn Harry tells Eggsy about his own family and business. When Eggsy asks if he’s just a boss or a tailor, too, Harry says he makes his own suits by himself. “Excellent advertising, bruv,” Eggsy says, looking Harry up and down, sucking his lower lip between his teeth unconsciously.

Harry learns Eggsy can make anything sound like innuendo.

Eggsy learns Harry hates nicknames and begins to call him horrendous things like ‘bruv’, ‘mate’ or ‘Haz’ to piss him off.

When Harry calls him ‘darling’ he chokes on air, his cheeks pink and gives up on the nicknames entirely.

 

***

 

Eggsy’s sending Harry stolen glances all day, biting his lips and turning his head in thought. 

Harry retires early to his bedroom and the whole house seems to quiet down with him. Not a soul on 9 pm in the hallways and the mansion turned into the victorian haunted house. Harry always liked the comparison.

He doesn’t flinch, when there’s a knock on the balcony door, but it’s a near thing. He puts down his book on the night stand and goes to pushed away the curtains just as another small rock hits the window.

Harry steps out on the balcony, a little shiver runs through his from the chill and he fastens his red bathrobe around himself.

“Harry?” He hears a hushed whisper from the ground.

Eggsy’s looking up at him balcony, another rock in his fist ready to throw it in the glass door, but then he sees Harry looking at him not amused over the railing and he grins. Harry supposes whatever it is that he’s been debating, he figured out. 

The young man that looks up at him is first and foremost sure of himself.

“Come down here. Don’t let anyone see you and meet me by the hedge maze. I wanna show you something.” Then as an afterthought, clutching his backpack ot his chest, he adds, “And, ‘Arry? Wear something casual.”

Harry sighs, but does as the boy tells him. He has a half idea to return to his book, but it is a thought at the back of his mind. He’s not sure if he could refuse the boy, especially when he looks so eager and hopeful.

It is a dangerous thought.

But he goes anyway. 

And he even changes from his suit pants, to more casual slacks and forgoes his tie, few buttons of his shirt exposing his throat. He debates with himself, if he should put on the beige cardigan, but thinks better of it. Eggsy by ‘casual’ for sure didn’t mean ‘wear grandads clothes’.

The hallways are quiet and no one’s there to see him. But, when he sees two pairs of footsteps, he hides in one of the sitting rooms, back to the door and heart beating wildly in his chest.

He laughs, quiet in the dark, and bangs his head softly on the door behind him.

If Merlin would see him now… Looking like a teenager sneaking out of the house without his parents knowledge. And to be honest, he feels like that, too.

It is another dangerous thought.

He meets Eggsy at the gates of the hedge maze - the exact same place where he saw the boy for the first time in the light of the day with his two friends behind him. He was energetic and vibrant and warm as the sun.

He is all of that things, still. But in the dark he is also careful and confident, his smile still wide but a tad softer, hand as chilly is the night that fits into Harry’s own and tugs him into the forest without a word. 

For all that Harry got to know him in those few days, this boy is still a mystery to him. Harry always had a soft spot for Sherlock Holmes. And Eggsy is the mystery he desperately wants to solve.

They walk for a long time, turning and going off the path, Eggsy leading the way, not letting go of Harry’s hand not once. He knows that path in his head like the back of his hand - he’s careful of the bumps and holes in the ground, warning Harry before each and every one.

Harry wonders if they are going to the place, where Eggsy always sneaks away to.

The climb up a hill and before Harry reaches the peak, Eggsy’s blocking his view. Close. Too close. “Close your eyes,” He breathes against Harry’s lips and this time the shiver that runs through Harry isn’t from the chill.

Harry lets Eggsy take both of his hand and lead him wherever he wants to go. Eggsy’s voice and the humming of the trees as the only things he hears. “The last time ya taught me something. So I guess it’s my turn to be a teacher now. Fair, right?” He sounds nervous, and he blabbers on, “That night, when we met and ya… ya know, dived in to save the poor merman from drowning, even if ya didn’t know how to swim…”

Harry gulps, his movements suddenly stiff. He knows where this is going and he fears he’s right, but still he prays to whoever is listening for him to be wrong.

“So yeah. This is it. Your free swimming lesson with no one around to laugh. Except me, of course. Ta-da!”

Harry thinks this is clue to open his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Still he drags his eyelids up only to see a pond, small pond with clear water surrounded by trees and hidden by the world. A place Eggsy found for himself. A place Eggsy debated the whole day to show him, because it’s that special to him.

Harry feels sick.

The boy does a little twirl, hands up, showing Harry everything, then stops smiling from ear to ear, eyebrows raised expecting Harry’s reaction. It falls immediately, when Harry begins to pale. “Shit! Fuck, ‘Arry, what’s wrong?”

He reaches out for Harry, but Harry doesn’t register it. Doesn’t register his touch or his worry. The only thing he knows is the growing boiling ball of dread in the pit of his stomach.

“Eggsy,” he chokes, “I can swim. I swim since I was 5.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> For the Hannibal fans - #sorrynotsorry.  
> I made my own version of Frederick Chilton, because I recently rewatched Hannibal and I realised I love Chilton in all his cowardy bitchy sassy glory.   
> And also - his legendary pimp cane. It deserves a fandom on its own.  
> Imagine him with British accent or something xD


End file.
